Part 35 (1/2)

”But I have lived here like a wild man,” argued Mr. Starr, ”in fact I fear I have grown to be one in ways and manners. Solitude may be good for some, but for those in distress--”

”Exactly. But you are not going to have any more solitude. You see we have invaded your camp, and when my sister Cora makes a discovery she always insists upon developing it. I never did see the beat of Cora for finding things out,” and the pride in Jack's voice matched the toss of his handsome head.

”And my little girl will have a friend,” mused the elder man.

”Well, in moments when I could think, that torturing thought of my dragging her down with me was too much. It drove me back always to the old, old despair.” The look of terror, that Jack noticed before came back into the haggard face. It was as if he feared to hope.

Laurel was at the door. Her face was a picture of happiness as she stood there gazing at her father. Her skin was as dark as the leaves that outlined the entrance to the hut; her eyes lighted up the rude archway: and her lithe figure completed the bronze statuette.

Jack's eyes fell upon her in unstinted admiration. Generations of culture are not easily undone even by the wild life of a forest.

”You are better every minute, father,” she said simply, ”I think the cure you need comes from pleasant company.”

”None could be more pleasant than your own, my dear,” he answered, ”but now I want to go and see my birds. And I must feed that cripple rabbit. He was shot,” to Jack, ”but the leg is mending nicely. I missed him so, for he knew us so well and would eat from our hands. You see we established a little kingdom here. Laurel was queen and we, the birds and other life creatures, were all her subjects.”

Laurel blushed through her tan. ”Yes, he had to do something,” she said, ”else the days would have been too long.”

The chug of a motor-boat interrupted them. ”That's Cora,” said Jack, and so it was.

CHAPTER XXVI

IN SEARCH OF HONOR

Cora brought back with her the letter promised by Brentano in his note of mystery. This time she confided in Laurel her scheme for unraveling the tangled skein in the web of dishonor that had been woven about the strange girl's father.

Ben had spoken to Cora at the Landing. He seemed to think that Cora might know more about the trouble between Peters and Tony than he had expected at first.

”But I don't, Ben,” she insisted, while Ed was absent getting mail.

”You give me credit for being better able to solve mysteries than I am. Is he worse hurt than they thought, Ben?”

”Much worse, miss. Of course, he's not dangerous, but the officers want Tony the worst way. Now if you could tell where to find him--”

”But I can't,” she explained. ”They came to me--”

And then she stopped suddenly. If Ben did not know of the visit of the detectives she was not going to tell him. She had had a faint suspicion that Ben might have sent them to her. But he evidently had not.

”Yes--yes,” he said eagerly. ”You were sayin', Miss Cora, that--”

”Oh, nothing, Ben,” she answered quickly. ”I think I am really so happy at having helped Laurel, that I don't know what I am saying.”

”Yes, indeed you can well be, Miss,” and Ben looked at her with what Cora thought a strange gaze. Still, she might be mistaken. Then she made some excuse to stroll away.

Walter had rambled off with Hazel and Bess. The day was now one of those so wonderful in August, when nature seems tired of her anxieties, and rests in a perfect ocean of content. The haze had cleared from the water, the hills were s.h.i.+mmering in the rival honors of sunlight and shadows, and Cedar Lake from far and near was glorious. Not a breeze broke the spell:

”No brisk fairy feet, bend the air, strangely sweet, For nature is wedding her lover!”

This line prompted Cora. Somehow the joy of relief was the one thing that had ever overcome her, and now, although nothing in all, the strange things that had happened around her, or had warped the life of Laurel and her father seemed really cleared away, still there was that odd look on old Ben's face, there was a new light in Laurel's eyes, and something like vigor in the voice of Mr. Starr.

Oh, if he could and would only tell about that note! Then everything else might await time for adjustment.